Schrödinger's Cat: A cat, along with a flask containing a poison, is placed in a sealed box shielded against environmentally induced quantum decoherence. If an internal Geiger counter detects radiation then the flask is shattered, releasing the poison which kills the cat. Quantum mechanics suggests that after a while the cat is simultaneously alive and dead. Yet, when we look in the box, we see the cat either alive or dead, not a mixture of alive and dead.

some knowledge from the land of comic books – courtesy of Comics Should Be Good and messrs. Lee and Ditko. it’s as if Stan was telling my life through Spidey’s…

from Amazing Spider-Man #33, art by Steve Ditko

in related news, check out my new blog, unskilled, for more focus (i’m pretty sure that’s not the right word) on my life as an unemployed bastard. a handfull of poepxhuut posts and already he’s starting a new blog? i know. i am the deadbeat daddy of bloggers.

found this on gumtree cape town. for a mere 2800 rand (280 US dolla), your lucky pet could be the proud owner of a hand-crafted “kitty cat jungle gym”.

note the bell-toy placement for optimal kitty cat enjoyment.

because we all know how much cats love to crawl through tunnels and run back and forth across wooden bridges. oh wait, that’s toddlers. but lest you decide to treat your kitty cat jungle gym like a regular jungle gym, there is a disclaimer from the manufacturer:

just imagine the satisfaction you’ll get as your cat disdainfully sniffs her new playtoy before she walks off and ignores you until suppertime. but before you regret your purchase, perhaps you should take the manufacturer’s advice and “arrange your own collection”. only the Mechazord of kitty cat jungle gyms will capture your jaded pet’s attention. definitely worth another month’s rent.

as i’ve said, i’ve spent most of my life talking mass amounts of shit with precious little to show for it. my resistance to writing and productivity in general has resulted in a lack of concern for the formalities of grammar and syntax. as you may have noticed, my wording at times veers sharply from the preferred formal register to the colloquial. i like to keep it real, you know? if you don’t talk like a douche why write like one. but sometimes i just can’t help it.

it may be hard at times to decipher my tone. i generally divide my time between being deadpan sarcastic to mildly ludicrous, and it’s really hard to stop. but everything i say here, even if it is outrageous, or you know it not to be true – i know its not true, but still believe in it. somethings are just meant to make you think, you know?

now that we’re off to an akward start – my favorite – let’s move on to on to some rather important questions, that i think we’ve all had in mind. what is the poep xhuut?

the poep xhuut (pronounced /pʰuːp/ /ʃuːt/) is many things. life is a poep xhuut, and its a goddam xpress train. many of us want to get on it, not knowing we already are. so don’t despair (i’m talking to myself here), just get into that conductor’s seat and ride that train.

but now to the more pertinent answer to that question. the poep xhuut xpress is first and foremost a testament, a digital record to the contents of my brain, lest they be dashed upon this very keyboard in some unfortunate act of a callous god. i hold no hopes for internet celebrity, or even a dozen hits, but while my intention is to create writing that is worth reading if you motherfuckers make me go it alone i will.

so what will actually be in the poep xhuut xpress? i dunno, actually. but if i had to predict, this is it:

i can’t write. i mean, i say witty, intelligent shit all the time, i just don’t write it down. not only that, i spent the last two years of my abortive University career without finishing a single essay. i think on some level i even take pride in the fact; when being a slacker is all that you got, you start to take it seriously.

the truth is: i’m a chronic and acute procrastinator. sometimes i like to think of myself as a poorly-motivated perfectionist, but really, i’m just a mess. i have enough trouble forming coherent sentences and putting them shits together that i prefer to just ramble on as i go along, much less trying to sort them out before hand in a piece of writing. (i’m also incredibly lazy.)

at first i just wanted to buy a typewriter. unlike a computer, there’s no backspaces or deletes or endless possibilities for word processing: there’s just more writing: XXXXXXXXXX. i like the idea of always moving forward – just letting the words flow, coming out as they may – just like my numerous riffs of bullshit that at times verge on the stream-of-conciousness – and when you do make a mistake, you just write some more, railroad right over those lapses in logic and progression. XXXXXXXXXX.

so here it begins. i can’t tell you what to expect: i’m a man of many tastes and proclivities. i am both a compassionate nerd and a despicable bastard. i start this blog with high hopes, but knowing me, this page could at any point descend into rants delivered in a strange mix of 1980s ebonics and bastardized seffefrican english. i shall attempt to straddle the sexy fence between credibility and absurdity, and i intend to ride it for many years to come.